by Daisy Tate
Freya could hardly believe the woman standing in front of her was the very same Charlotte who’d been unable to speak up for herself while her husband humiliated her in front of everyone she knew. If only Charlotte could take some of this confidence and use it to hammer Oli to the wall.
‘And you think all of this is genuinely possible?’ Rocco leant against the doorframe, genuinely engrossed. All their lives they’d milked the cows without so much as a second thought about anything beyond ensuring it was ready for the milk distributor. There was just too much work involved in doing anything apart from that. Freya’s eyes flicked towards the Vettriano. If Rocco sold it, he could make the shop a proper concern. He definitely deserved some cream after all of his years of hard graft keeping the farm afloat.
Charlotte glanced at her watch. ‘We’d best get down there, but if you help me with these, I can explain on the way.’
An hour later, the shop looked as if it had been plucked out of a ‘Fabulous Farm Shops of Fyfe’ newspaper spread. Rocco had given Charlotte free rein to put suggested donations on everything. It was an impressive spread. The bottles of milk stood in a glass-fronted mini refrigerator that Lachlan had unearthed. There were gingham-cloth-wrapped Breakfast Bundles (milk, a small disc of butter, sausages or bacon and a few rolls from a local bakery). Freya’s cushion covers were tagged at an eye-watering forty-two pounds. (Freshly stuffed after an emergency trip to a craft shop which had opened its doors after Emily had threatened to throw herself through the window.) Something had really got into Emily over the past couple of days. And, of course, there were Charlotte’s cakes and the malted milks. A huge Kilner jar marked ‘Donations’ had a solitary pound coin in it courtesy of Lachlan ‘as a primer’.
Four farmers who regularly sold their wares at farmers’ markets pulled up with portable food trucks and trailers. The air smelt of bonfire, sausages and baked potatoes.
Emily had augmented her standard black ensemble with a tartan scarf that Lachlan had insisted she wear, and a knitted hat decorated with a bauble that Freya had taken from the Christmas tree. Izzy had necked a bottle of Day Nurse, put on one of Freya’s old snow suits and kept insisting she was ready to parrrr-tayyyyy before dissolving into more worrisome coughing fits.
The children were all wearing silly Christmas jumpers, apart from Jack, who was refusing on the grounds they were for children. Fortunately, Regan and Felix were perfectly comfortable with looking ridiculous. Monty had fostered healthy levels of silliness in them to make this sort of thing fun.
Freya was tempted to make a video call and show Monty the shop, but thought it best to leave it, as they’d promised, until midnight.
‘Right!’ Charlotte clapped her hands together, as she so often did, in prayer position in front of her lips, as if she were holding in everything she actually wanted to say. She dropped them to her chin. ‘What do we do now?’
They both looked out to the road where the odd car was passing by but not turning in.
‘Well …’ Freya crossed her fingers and held them up for Charlotte to see. ‘We wait!’
Emily wondered if this was what partying in Lapland would be like. Berloody freezing, but utterly hedonistic. She kind of liked it.
There were flames and dancing and drinking and singing. One man had been tossed into a frozen water trough and pronounced it ‘ab-so-lute-ly legendary’.
It looked as if the entire Kingdom of Fife had turned up. Cars had long since filled the extra field they’d earmarked for an overflow car park and were spilling onto the road. They’d run out of booze ages ago, but it hadn’t been a problem as word had gone out on the Twitter-sphere that it was BYOB at Burns’ Folly. Apparently it was traditional to show up with a bottle anyway, so … these Scots could cane it!
The milk and breakfast bundles had been snaffled hours ago, as had the cakes. Every time Charlotte emptied the donations jar, Lachlan shook his head in wonder and said he always knew the Scots were a generous sort but not this generous. The last of Freya’s cushions had just been snapped up. She was compiling a waiting list of would-be buyers for more. Rocco’s chest was so puffed out with pride, he genuinely did look fit to burst.
Even Charlotte had let her hair down. She was wearing one of Freya’s woodland crowns atop her neat, ash-blonde mum do – a whorl of tiny pine cones sprayed gold, interwoven with holly berries and multi-coloured silk flowers that someone had found in the attic. She was glowing.
There was no sign of Tansy, but … it wasn’t as if Emily would have anything to talk to her about. That was what had struck her the most as the evening had progressed. Emily couldn’t do chitchat. Izzy, who looked like death warmed up, could jabber away with anyone. And was. Freya kept flinging herself into people’s arms, talking and laughing. Friends, no doubt, from the olden days. Even Charlotte was chatting with ease to total strangers. Emily simply didn’t have it as a skill base. How could she when her entire life revolved around the hospital?
‘Sausage?’
Emily blinked as a sausage was put directly in her eye line. Behind it glowed a crown of shiny auburn hair.
‘You came.’
Nice one, Emms. Stating the obvious.
‘How could I not?’ Tansy revealed her freckly nose and smiley lips. She made a tragedy face.’I can’t believe we missed the butterscotch gin cakes!’
Emily shrugged and said nothing. Her insides were doing all sorts of weird things. Like swooping.
A skinny-jeaned, antler-wearing, sausage-eating man emerged from the crowd. ‘This place is absolutely amazing.’
Emily’s heart dropped back into place. Lower probably.
Brodie.
Brodie the ‘partner’.
Brodie the Partner stuffing a sausage into his smug beardy face. Emily decided against telling him he had onions stuck on his chin.
He whacked a possessive arm over Tansy’s shoulders. ‘This place is brilliant. Mind if we talk to the big man about doing a partnership with the malted milks? A little “I scratch your back if you scratch mine” action?’
Bleuuurgh.
‘Please. Be my guest.’ She pointed towards the bonfire where Rocco was putting another huge log on amidst a shower of sparks.
‘Mint!’ Brodie pulled Tansy in for a greasy, sausagey cheek kiss. ‘Catcha later!’
Emily needed a drink.
‘SEVEN!’
Being one of a hundred-odd people round a bonfire counting down to the New Year was sending fireworks through Charlotte’s bloodstream. Or perhaps it was the fact that Rocco had his arm casually slung over Charlotte’s shoulder. He’d been telling someone how helpful she’d been, given her a half-hug and then … simply left his arm on her shoulders.
He’d been so busy all night. Talking about the farm, his cows, the milk, his (new) plans for selling artisanal butter. Apart from the days her children were born, Charlotte had only felt more proud once in her life. The day she’d graduated from university.
‘SIX!’
‘Lotte!’ Izzy danced up to her and squeezed in between Rocco and Charlotte. ‘There you are, woman! I wanna sneeze in the New Year with my girlie girls!’
Charlotte and Rocco’s eyes met over Izzy’s head. A feat, considering Izzy was both tall and wearing sparkly reindeer antlers. Rocco looked perplexed. Charlotte didn’t know what she felt. She wasn’t divorced yet. Or ready to date. But … she had fancied Rocco Burns from the first day she’d laid eyes on him all those years ago. What would her life have been like today if she’d said something?
Izzy launched forward as another violent sneeze took hold of her. Charlotte scooped an arm round her waist and shifted her to her far side. The one not next to Rocco. His arm slipped back into place across her shoulders. She didn’t dare meet his gaze.
‘FIVE!’
‘Where’s the best big brother in the world?’
Freya was high as a kite. It was nice to see her letting go after all the hard graft she’d put in over the past few days. She dance-walked to them, wield
ing a half-empty bottle of red, her lips and tongue stained a dark purple. ‘Iloveyoubothsomuchithurts! Physically.’ She thumped herself on the chest. ‘Ithurtsmyheart!’
Izzy raised her own bottle for a clink. Prosecco, from the looks of things. ‘Amen to that, sister! Feeling your love pain!’
‘FOUR!’
‘Where’s Emily?’ Izzy suddenly looked mournful. ‘And Booboo. I want my little Booboo by my side when the bell strikes.’
‘THREE!’
‘In the cowshed.’ Rocco said so that Izzy could hear him above the crowd noise. His hand slid along Charlotte’s shoulder to her lower back as he moved. ‘She and Dad are showing the other children the calves.’ His hand moved back into place on her shoulders, a bit more snugly if she wasn’t mistaken.
Izzy hiccoughed. ‘I can’t see Emily anywhere!’ Izzy cupped her mittened hands to her mouth. ‘Emmilly! Booboo!’
‘TWO!’
Freya was jumping up and down. ‘Bring. It. On!’
‘ONE!’ The crowd went berserk. ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!’
Roars and whoops surrounded them. Couples drew together. Friends kissed cheeks and laughed. The children danced around the crowd like lunatics, with poppers and environmentally friendly confetti. Izzy and Freya clinked bottles again, lurched forward, conked foreheads and dissolved into hysterics as the crowd consumed them.
Charlotte felt Rocco’s hand shift from her shoulder to her face. She turned to him. His other hand cupped her bare cheek. He tipped her face up so gently she felt like a baby lamb. Delicate. New. Surprisingly lusty. So perhaps not like a baby lamb at all.
The moment their lips touched, Charlotte felt such an explosion of pleasure she literally lost her balance. Rocco moved his arm to her waist and pulled her in to him, deepening his kiss as he did so. Charlotte had never felt safer or more desirable in her entire life.
‘Happy New Year, Charlotte,’ Rocco whispered against her lips.
‘Happy New Year,’ Charlotte breathed back.
‘MUM!’
Charlotte turned so quickly she pulled something in her neck.
Poppy was staring at her in horror. ‘What are you doing?’
Rocco dropped his hand from Charlotte’s cheek and took two large steps back, hands raised up in surrender position.
‘I’m sorry, I …’ Charlotte sought out her daughter’s retreating figure in the crowd.
‘You go on and find her,’ Rocco looked as deflated as Charlotte felt.
‘I …’ She wanted to apologize. To explain. But nothing would come out.
‘I know, lassie,’ Rocco stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘I know.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The cowshed was surprisingly warm.
Izzy wiped at the sheen of sweat on her face. She felt very, very peculiar. Emily would probably give her a lecture about mixing booze with cold medicine but … She wanted her Booboo.
She walked heavily, a quilt draped over her shoulders, an empty bottle of Prosecco dangling from her fingers as the cows looked up with only a vague interest as she passed.
Izzy made her way down to the far end of the shed where Rocco had built a crèche for the calves who had been rejected or, in one case, orphaned.
‘Oh!’
Izzy dropped the bottle, hands flying to her mouth. She felt like a clumsy wise man discovering baby Jesus, but perhaps a bit drunker. And, of course, a few days early.
Regan was leaning against the wall of the barn with a beautiful calf in her lap, both of them sound asleep, whilst Luna, Bonzer and the other calves were all curled up, asleep as well, in a huge whorl of fresh straw.
Izzy patted her sides for her phone. Nope. She obviously hadn’t transferred it to the snow suit.
She considered whether to wake the children and bundle their inevitably grumpy little selves into the house or just to leave them here. It was warm enough. A bit pooey, but … Would children’s services have her for neglect if she left them?
‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves some extra calves.’
‘Oh! Rocco. I didn’t even hear you come in.’ A mix of relief and disappointment yanked at her chest. She had happened upon the world’s best tableau and now it would change, but … Rocco would make the decision about the children. Izzy suddenly, urgently, wanted nothing more than a big brother just like Rocco to make decisions for her. Emily was great, and obviously knew medical stuff better than she did, but she didn’t want Emily to have to take on the role of carer. She just wanted Emily to be her friend. A person with whom she could escape from the harshness of reality. Not inspect it in painstaking detail.
She gave Rocco a heavy nod. ‘What does one do in a situation like this, farmer man?’
Rocco smiled that kind smile of his, the crinkles by his eyes raying out like sunbeams. Charlotte should fall in love with him and marry him. They could all live here at the farm happily ever after, selling cake and milk. Then Izzy wouldn’t have to worry about waking Luna up and telling her that Mama wasn’t feeling so well.
Rocco shifted a pitchfork that had been leaning on the side of the pen to the wall rack.
Bonzer opened one eye, then abruptly sat up. He was wearing a rather striking holiday vest. A chunky-knit, cherry-red number with a gold star on the centre of his chest. He was going to be the size of a moose when he grew up, and the one constant in Luna’s life, if Izzy’s hunch about the pain in her armpit was anything to go by. He nuzzled Luna who blinked open her eyes, saw her mother and smiled. She did a luxurious little-girl stretch and yawn. ‘Did you make your New Year’s wishes?’
Oh, what a loaded question.
She tapped her head then her heart. ‘Got’em in here.’
Regan woke up, then her calf and, mostly thanks to Rocco, they bundled the humans and the dog back into the house and up to their rooms with hot-water bottles and a reminder that they were heading back down the road to Sussex in the morning. Both girls, who’d asked to sleep together in a Bonzer sandwich, were too tired to protest.
With no Luna to cuddle up to, Izzy felt unexpectedly bereft. Her one resolution had been to tell the truth. She didn’t want to tell the truth because it meant being honest with herself. So she did what she’d always done when she felt this way. Made a pillow person and cuddled up to it. Maybe Emily would come and check on her later. Sniff. That would make her feel better. And then, perhaps, she’d be brave enough to tell everyone her news.
‘All right there, Mr Burns? Enjoyed your New Year’s party?’
Emily had enjoyed hers. Sort of. At midnight, Tansy had stuffed her number into Emily’s pocket and given her a delightfully lingering kiss on the cheek then *ping!* disappeared.
Lachlan looked away from the television where the revelry had passed its peak in London and moved on to New York. He said he’d been outside for a bit, but when things had got a bit overcrowded he’d opted for the comfort of the cosy sitting room.
He smiled and stroked his chin. ‘The children certainly enjoyed it.’ His gaze shifted to the window, where Rocco was gently encouraging people to find a new place to see out the rest of their Hogmanay. ‘It was good to see a smile on Mariella’s face tonight.’
That got Emily’s attention.
‘You mean Freya?’
‘Eh?’ He looked perplexed.
‘Tonight. Smiling. It was good to see a smile on Freya’s face.’
He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. ‘Aye, lassie. That’s what I said.’
Hmmm.
‘I’m heading off to bed,’ Emily told him. ‘Anything I can get you?’
‘No, thank you, darlin’. I’m a contented man.’
He looked it, too. Flanked by a Christmas tree and a modest pile of Christmas presents that he had yet to put away. A tin mug with Scottish birds on it. A sweater Freya had made. A book on whittling.
‘Made any resolutions?’ He pressed up and out of his worn armchair with a chesty groan.
‘Who? Me? Nooo.’ It wasn’t her thing. Emily’s entire life ha
d been about hitting goalposts. She’d balked at adding extra pressure to the New Year when her parents had already meticulously crafted her life to perfection in spreadsheet after spreadsheet.
‘You?’ She remembered to ask. It was something her professional cuddler had taught her. To ask a person the same question in return, even if you weren’t that interested.
‘Aye,’ he said, then smiled mysteriously and tapped the side of his head. ‘The main problem is remembering what it is.’
She was about to launch into a list of memory aids he could put to use, but stopped herself. He was a happy man. Why complicate things when there was no need?
Once in bed, Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She was a grown woman, long since free of her parents’ spreadsheets. Why not make a resolution?
She thought of that tingling feeling she’d had when Tansy’s kiss had lit upon her cheek and the envy she’d felt when Brodie had swept in and pulled her into a conga line. If she had any sort of skill base in being footloose and fancy-free, Emily would’ve simply joined in with them. She was silly with Izzy, and had been known to fling the odd boa about with her former flatmate Callum. See? Silly. She replayed the scenes in her head then corrected herself. She had basked in the glow of their silly. Silly by proxy.
Which is why, no doubt, she’d not bothered to find Tansy again.
She stretched, then curled up into a ball under the covers. She knew what her resolution was. Find a way to feel comfortable enough in her own skin to let someone know her. Really know her. Like Izzy did. But different.
She squeezed her eyes tight until the little white dots appeared. When she opened them, her life appeared before her with crystal-clear clarity. She wasn’t silly because her parents had raised a little grown-up. Made a mini-them. Two earnest, hardworking academics whose sole quest – after recovering from the disappointment of having had a girl – had been to devote themselves to ensuring Emily excelled. At everything. They hadn’t done it because they were mean. Or horrid. Or masochistic. It was what they had been programmed to do. Muchos gracias, China.